Summary

Steve swallowed, gulping where Rumlow’s finger touched him. “Thanks,” he said, voice shaky. Rumlow wasn’t meant to touch him. No one was meant to touch him in here. But he didn’t say. He didn’t say as Rumlow’s fingers slipped down, over his chest, all the way down, down - “You sell private dances, trade?” - down until they were resting on the edge of his tiny briefs.